Page 12 of Stirring Spurs (Rainbow Ranch #1)
BOONE
“You’ve got an extra giddy-up in your step this morning.”
Billie’s on the stool, watching me stir the milk, butter, and vanilla into a massive bowl of beaten eggs.
“Do I?” I ask. “I mean, who doesn’t love waffles? They’re like crispy pancakes with ridges. There’s so much more real estate for syrup. What’s not to love?”
I glance at my little sister. She’s not so little anymore, but in my mind, she’ll always be the one chasing after Beau and me, nipping at our heels.
Her open flannel is rolled up past her elbows, exposing a good portion of the tattoos covering her arms. Billie’s always been the one to call us boys on our shit, and the look on her face warns me this morning will be no different.
“Yeah, waffles are life.” She pulls her feet up on the stool, trying to fit like she did when she was little, and she mostly manages it. “But, I’m thinking it might have more to do with a certain cowboy payin' you a little extra attention.”
I pour the egg mixture into the dry ingredients, grab my oversized whisk, and get to work. The waffle iron sizzles in anticipation. Knowing the crew will be showing up shortly, with four dozen waffles to prepare, helps keep my focus.
“So, I’m right about you and Mr. Anderson? Winnie called it the day he arrived.”
I steal a glance as Billie’s massive, mischievous grin sprawls across her face.
“He’s…” I pause, pouring the first batch into the hot grooves, the crackling and sweet aroma instantly filling the room.
“Hot,” she says. “Quiet. Maybe a little mysterious.”
She points her finger at me and marks imaginary boxes. “Check, check, check…”
I shrug and close the top of the waffle iron. Unable to argue with her, I set the timer for three minutes.
“I’m happy for you, Boonie.” She’s up, hugging me from behind. “You take such good care of us, and it’s time you had someone to return the favor.”
“We take care of each other,” I say, turning around so she’s in my arms. “And anyway, I’m not the only single sibling around here. Heard from Rosa lately?”
Billie and Rosa had been inseparable forever, both top cowgirls in their own right—until Rosa left a year ago to join the traveling rodeo.
“We’re talking about you right now.” She places a hand on my chest, and I stare down at the cactus inked on her forearm.
Even after Billie was old enough to choose to work with Pa and Beau, she’d sneak into the kitchen, taking my spot on the stool to talk my ear off about horses.
She’s a grown-ass woman now. Fiercer than I’ll ever be, but I still love having her tucked into my torso this way.
I’ll always be her big brother, no matter what .
“Boonie, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you need a little attention… down here.”
She tries to slap my ass, but I grab her, doing my best to hold her still, but she’s like a wild mare trying to stretch her legs. I may be a good foot taller, but Billie’s always been stronger.
“My butt is just fine,” I tease, slapping her on the bottom.
“It will be after Mr. Anderson gets ahold of it.”
We’re laughing loudly now—the room resembles a lively cattle round-up, but I’ve moved us away from the scorching waffle iron. Billie grips both my wrists with one hand, and I struggle to break free as she grabs for my hat. Ma used to call it roughhousing, and nobody does it better than Billie.
“Ahold of what?”
The sound of Wylie’s low voice cuts through our guffawing, and we freeze. Before either of us can respond, the metallic clanging noise of the timer fills the kitchen.
“Waffles!” I yell and untangle myself from my sister to pry the first batch out.
“Everyone loves waffles.” Billie tips her hat to Wylie and scurries out to the dining room.
“Mornin',” Wylie says with a dip of his chin.
He moves closer, but since I’m catching my breath as I fork hot waffles out of the iron, he stays a good foot away from me.
“Hungry?” I ask. “I’ve got a few more batches to make, but maybe you could take these to the table for me while they’re hot?”
I hold the platter up, only partially covered with golden-brown waffles, their steam rising slightly. I’ll use a smaller plate to ferry fresh ones as I make them .
“Course.” He takes the dish from me, and his fingers brush against mine.
His eyes, pools of dark brown, hold mine, and I try my darndest to maintain my composure as my face warms.
Between Wylie and the piping hot waffle iron, I’m about to melt.
He steps toward the dining room, and wanting to keep him near for another minute, I blurt, “Got another cake plate all wrapped and ready to go. I left it on the buffet. Your name’s on it.”
With a playful wink, I send him off. Instead of leaving, he rushes forward, the aroma of the waffles palpable as he cradles them carefully to the side with one hand.
And sure enough, Wylie Anderson plants the sweetest kiss right on my cheek.
He presses just enough for his stubble to brush against my skin, and I swear, if I weren’t leaning against the counter, my legs would give out.
“See you tonight.” His voice, a low rumble, vibrates against my ear.
My heart skips a beat—like the universe is holding its breath—then that darn waffle iron sizzles, reminding me there are more mouths to feed and bringing me back to reality.